


Mourning Summer

by Morgana



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the summer after The Gift through a series of 500-word ficlets</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Third Slayer

His first Slayer had been a wild ride. She was tiny, a little dynamo who packed one helluva wicked spin kick and came closer to killing him than anyone else had at that point. They'd only faced off the once, and he'd been too busy fighting for his life to truly enjoy it, but it still ranked among his favorite memories. China had been exotic beyond anything William had ever dreamed of, with food and people he'd only read about, a perfect place to find and kill his first Slayer. Her blood, sliding down his throat, had been the elixir of the gods, the only taste of heaven something like him was ever likely to know, and he'd decided being damned in the afterlife was worth if it he could only find more of that, more like her here on earth. 

His second Slayer was as different from the first as night from day, but no less enjoyable for all that. Long and leggy, she fought with the cut-throat moves of someone used to struggling on the street to survive, and he couldn't help but respect that. This was no protected girl, no sheltered flower raised in a monastery with the knowledge of what she was; this was a hell-cat of the first water, scratching out whatever living she could by whatever means might come her way. He'd managed to hold off enough to play with her a little, watching when he could, and he'd been quite impressed when he'd seen her boost a pair of boots from one of the shops down in SoHo. The angry little man that had burst out after her hadn't stood a chance in chasing her, and from the rapid fire Korean curses that he yelled after her, he'd known it. She was a tough one, all right, but just like the first, when he decided to put her down for good, she went without more than a brief, enjoyable struggle. 

Buffy Summers put them both to shame. She fought with the single-minded grace of the Chinese Slayer and the savvy moves of the New York one, but there was a radiance within her that neither had ever brought to the fight. She reveled in it, exulted in the power of it, even if she didn't know it yet. The dance called to her just like it did to him, and she was never more beautiful than when she heeded the night's siren song and joined in. Spike hadn't stood a prayer against her, not from that first night; he saw that now. Drusilla had known, though. Somehow she'd seen it, and she'd set him free, sent him back to where he belonged, to the Slayer that managed to claim his heart for her own, wanted or not. 

Spike stared silently at her, drinking in the way she glowed in the morning sun, like an angel somehow sent to earth. Then he bowed his head and wept for his third Slayer.


	2. Mutual Losses

The Slayer was dead. Word spread quickly through the demon bars and brothels, and without exception, it was met with equal amounts of disbelief and wonder. It hardly seemed possible - after five years, they'd all come to view the little golden Slayer as invincible. To hear that she was dead, that she had finally fallen in battle... it was wrong. The Slayer belonged to them, to Sunnydale, and most of them couldn't help but feel that if she were killed, her death should have been brought about by one of their own. 

That was, until they remembered that one of their own had indeed been present at her death. Or at least, Spike used to be one of them. A government chip and a tiny girl had taken a legend and tamed him, just as a soul and the same girl had brought the famed Angelus to his knees. But Angelus hadn't been there, hadn't stood and fought with her. Only Spike. He was a traitor, a cheat and a liar, but he was also undeniably one of their own. And now the vampire grieved for the loss of his mate, unclaimed though she might have been, and many began to feel that they should do something to honor that. 

It started small, first a carton of cigarettes, then a bottle of Jack Daniels and a cooler full of blood, offerings for the Slayer's mate to ease his pain. As Spike's injuries healed and he took up patrol again, little gifts began to appear both on his doorstep and at the Slayer's grave, tokens of thanks from a demon population that was beginning to realize how complacent they'd grown in Sunnydale. Buffy Summers hadn't hesitated to kill whatever creatures were dumb enough to attack her, but she'd never gone hunting them. She didn't interfere with their businesses or homes and didn't seek them out unless they brought it on themselves. Under her auspice, Sunnydale had become safer for many of them, a good place to raise hellspawn and maybe even retire someday. They'd never counted on her dying, never thought about what would happen without a Slayer to police the place. 

Then one night, it happened: the Slayer was back, staking vampires and mouthing off like nothing had ever happened. But something was wrong - her grave was still tended and Spike's eyes still haunted and red. Not to mention, she didn't smell right. When it became known that he wouldn't go near the Slayer and shied away from her touch, it was clear: whoever it was, _whatever_ it was that went walking through the graveyards, it wasn't the Slayer. Somehow her friends had created a facsimile of her, probably thinking that it would fool them into thinking there was still a Slayer. As if they wouldn't have smelled the difference a mile away. Of course, saying so could only bring trouble down on them, so they all kept their heads down and pretended that the pretty little thing was real.


	3. Not Yet

Spike took the long way home again, the way that didn't go by Her grave. He knew he was the worst kind of coward for doing so, but he couldn't stand to see the stone that marked his failure, the proof that It wasn't some fevered dream or nightmarish hell of his own imagining. Not yet.

His job had been a simple one - keep the little girl from getting hurt. And yet he hadn't been able to carry through, and she'd lost her sister because of his carelessness. He supposed the real miracle was that she didn't seem to realize that it had been his fault. She didn't hold it against him, still saw him as her big brother and protector, and he didn't have the strength of will to confess his failing to her. Not yet.

She'd asked about the grave, whether he'd seen it and the words she'd chosen, and he'd lied. Told her he'd stopped by last night for a nice long visit with big sister. She seemed to want to hear that, to know that he was doing the same thing they all were, and he hadn't been able to let her down. They were human, and it seemed to be the nature of humans to visit their dead. They talked to them as though they could still hear, touched the gravestone as if it were their loved one's flesh, and generally did their best to pretend they hadn't seen someone die. They had to if they were ever going to heal. But he couldn't. Not yet.

It had taken the unthinkable to remind Spike that, while he might hunt with the humans and even seek out their company when the loneliness became unbearable, he wasn't one of them. He'd grown complacent, settled into his role as the Slayer's extra muscle, like Angel had with his own set of humans. They'd come with him to the funeral, crowded around him as if trying to protect him from seeing the fresh mound of dirt and realizing that She was gone. And he'd let them, held the cheerleader's hand and let the ex-Watcher lead him away like a blind man, but during the ceremony, he and Spike had exchanged glances, and in that second they'd understood each other. They played the part for the children around them, but they weren't human, and they didn't grieve like them. Not yet.

Angel had gone to Tibet, something about a retreat and a monastery, and if it worked, so much the better for him. Spike couldn't leave, though. He'd made a promise, and the world was still turning, so he had to keep it. He consoled himself with the oblivion he found in the bottle, the violence he unleashed on patrol, and the mind-numbing banality of daytime TV, pretending that at any minute She was going to walk in and punch him in the nose. It might not be healthy, but he couldn't let Her go. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.


	4. Reboot

The Lypgaan had gone for the witches. They'd been wrapping up a fairly routine patrol when it had burst out of the bushes, heading straight for the pair. Spike had tackled it, then started beating on it. That was a good five minutes ago, and he was still going, fists smacking against the bloody and pulverized corpse as though he expected it to come back to life at any second. Willow, Tara and Xander watched in a sort of horrified amazement, unable to bring themselves to stop him just yet. 

Finally Spike stood and gave the unmoving demon a hard kick that caved its head in. "My witches, get your own," he snarled. 

"That was bloody brilliant, Spike!" His face darkened at the sound of the bright, chirping voice behind him. Spike had reluctantly agreed to Willow's plan to rebuild the Buffybot, but he still wasn't resigned to patrolling with it while everyone attempted to treat it like Her. 

It wasn't Her. And whenever he saw the too-wide smile or too-bright eyes, he wondered anew how he ever thought he could've believed a wind-up toy like that could be anything like the reality that had been his Slayer. She'd been a lioness that thrived on the hunt, a creature of the darkness despite the scent of sunshine that always seemed to cling to Her bright hair, and seeing Her replaced with what amounted to an overgrown Barbie doll rankled. Knowing that he had been the reason that doll was created was an open, bleeding wound. 

"Spike? Aren't we going to do our own patrol later?" the Bot asked. "We could play the tombstone game again." 

He flinched as though he'd been struck, turning a tormented look on Willow. "Can't you shut that thing up?" 

She twisted her hands together and glanced at Tara. "I - I would, Spike, but she - it needs to be able to talk to us. Not to mention the whole Slayer thing. I suppose I could try altering the tone, maybe tweak some of the underlying algorhythmic structures..." 

"Teach it to bloody mime for all I care!" he snapped. "Just shut it up or..." He shook his head. "Make it stop doin' that." 

Without waiting for her to agree, he whirled on his heel and stalked off, pausing only long enough to snatch his axe from the chest of the Snak'leth it was buried in. The Bot started to go after him, but Willow caught hold of her arm. "I think we'd better give Spike some time to himself," she stated quietly. 

"He doesn't want me around," the Bot said sadly, and for a second, Willow could almost hear her dead friend, could almost believe that it really was Buffy standing beside her. 

"It's okay," Tara told the Bot. "Spike doesn't really like anybody." 

"He likes Dawn." 

"That's different." 

"How?" The Bot cocked its head to one side, looking genuinely curious. 

"It just is," Willow said quietly. "C'mon, let's go work on your programming."


	5. Wake to Sleep

_The knife wound burned like fire, and he could feel blood streaming down his side, but it was nothing compared to the fear he could see in Dawn's eyes. She was only three feet away, but it might as well have been three hundred miles, for all the good he was going to be able to do her. Spike cast an agonized look at her before a hard shove from behind sent him hurtling through the air. He managed to hook a leg around Doc's as he fell, and the last thing he heard was Dawn's scream before he and Doc were falling...._ 

Spike woke with a start just before he hit the ground. He sat up slowly, one hand rising to massage his throbbing head. There was something important, something he should remember, he knew that much, but what? "Hey there, sleepyfangs," a voice teased from the kitchen doorway. "About time you woke up, isn't it?" 

"Buffy?" She smiled at him and he stood up, walking slowly over to her. "Are you... are you real?" 

"Silly vamp. You know the answer to that," she chided, but her smile never faded. 

He raised his hand to cup her cheek, marveling silently at the soft warmth of her skin against his palm. A distant bang sent a dread sense of foreboding sliding through him, but Buffy just grinned and murmured, "I think Dawnie's home from school." 

Dawn. Home. Spike knew that should mean something, but he couldn't think of it. "She'll wait," he told her, bending to kiss the upturned lips. 

Buffy stepped back before he could make contact, a strange, sorrowful look entering her eyes. "You should go talk to her, Spike. She's family now." 

"But -" 

"I'll see you soon," Buffy said, taking another step back. He started to follow her, but it was so bright, too bright... 

"Spike!" His eyes snapped open, and he stared in bewilderment at the teenager standing over him "I'm home," she announced, then headed towards the kitchen. 

Spike sat up, rubbing his eyes. He stared after her, absently wondering again why he'd agreed to babysit her during the day when - 

Oh, God. She was dead. She was really dead. The phrase repeated in the same sickening loop he remembered from that morning when the Slayer lay in the pool of light amid the rubble. He shook his head, trying to deny it. If he could just pretend a little longer... 

As though she'd been summoned, Dawn walked back into the living room, banana in hand. "Hey, Spike, if a guy named Myron calls for me, I'm grounded, okay? He's been hinting about a date and I really don't wanna go out with Keckle the Freckle." 

The nonsensical nickname made him laugh, and the worst of the pain eased with it. He promised to go along with her little fiction, and as she plopped down on the couch and started chattering about her day, he told himself again that it was all just a dream.


	6. A Second Look

Xander was having a hard time concentrating. He'd turned Voyager on, but his attention kept wandering from Seven of Nine to the two beings in the dining room. He supposed neither of them could really be called a person, seeing as they weren't exactly human, but he could almost forget that when he watched them like this. It was an incongruous sight, really - an ancient key and a master vampire, heads bent together in concentrated study over an algebra book. 

It just wasn't right. Vampires were creatures of myth, monsters that thrived on fear and the slaughter of innocents. They were supposed to spend their nights stalking the streets in search of prey, not teaching fifteen-year-olds about Keats and cubic polynomials. And how weird was it that Spike knew what a cubic polynomial was, anyway? 

He guessed he shouldn't be that surprised. Spike really wasn't your typical hunt-maim-murder vampire, even if he did like to talk big. But Xander didn't think the truly evil really enjoyed Dawson's Creek or had an opinion on who Pacey's true love was. He doubted that most of the demons they fought even knew what a Snoball was, let alone raided their roommate's stash at every chance they got. And they certainly didn't sit through The Princess Bride over and over again just because a teenage girl begged them to. 

But Spike did. He helped Dawn with her homework, shot pool with Xander sometimes, traded demon stories with Anya, and went patrolling every night to help fill the shoes of his mortal enemy. An enemy that he'd somehow fallen in love with. Xander could admit that it really was love, although he'd never tell Spike that. But he'd seen the vampire collapse when she fell, watched as the monster that had killed Slayers broke at the sight of her body, and he'd been unable to help thinking about how he would've felt if it had been Anya lying there, broken and lifeless. So yeah, he couldn't make that argument anymore. 

And really, that was his major problem, that somehow his arguments against Spike had become useless. Sure, he still talked about killing them all when he got his chip out, but it was like the threats that he remembered his mom yelling when he and Jesse would start wrestling around during a sleepover. Everybody knew it wasn't real, even Spike himself, but they all played along because it made him feel better. Not that Xander thought the vampire was tamed, not by a long shot. If Spike ever got his chip out, he wouldn't hesitate to start snacking on people again, but the torture and single-minded pursuit of destruction that Angelus had shown wouldn't even be an issue. Like it or not, they were part of Spike's pack now, for better or worse. 

Xander wasn't ever going to like Spike, but he couldn't hate him anymore. Not after seeing the hell he was living in with every day without Buffy.


	7. Keeping Faith

Spike doesn't remember much about the first month After. He spent most of it in an alcoholic fog anytime he wasn't out killing things or tending to the Bit, so he supposes that's to be expected. But somewhere around the fortieth day, he crawls out of the bottle, and that's when he really discovers what hell is.

You see, a drunken haze makes it impossible to miss someone. The whiskey numbed the silence during patrol that practically cried out for witty quips, ultimately allowing him to drift into dreams where a sweet smile and warm hazel eyes waited for him. He probably would've stayed in his alcoholic stupor until one day he passed out too close to sunrise, but for one thing: Dawn.

She needs him - even the Watcher and the sodding Scoobies will admit it. With the Slayer gone, the Key has to be protected, they'll all cop to that. But what they won't say is that she needs him for more than that. He's her anchor every bit as much as she is his; they keep each other going, give each other something to think about besides the crippling sorrow that constantly dogs their heels. In this new and desolate world they've found themselves in, the knowledge that someone else shares their pain is all that keeps them sane.

Dawn still cries herself to sleep more often than not. Her eyes have dark smudges under them that owe nothing to parties and late nights in front of the TV, and everything to the nightmares that refuse to let go of her. But she let herself be talked into going to the ice cream shop with one of her little friends last week, and she's even managed to laugh a few times. More than that, she's actually gotten Spike to laugh as well.

He wishes he could say that, like Dawn, he'll eventually heal, but he knows better. Like Sissyphus, he pushes the boulder of his grief uphill each day, trying desperately to reach the top and find some ease for his aching heart, but all it takes is a chance remark, a faint echo of scent that clings to something Dawn wears, the sound of Her name... such little things, but they send Spike sliding right back down into the valley of misery and despair, as far from peace as he has ever been.

The sunrise tempts him every morning, the bright rays offering oblivion in a siren's song that's still almost too hard to resist, but he can't go yet. He'd given his word, promised to protect the girl they both loved so long as both he and the world existed. While his world had exploded two months ago, the world at large was still turning, so there was nothing to do but continue on the path he'd set out on. Dawn was still here, and as long as she was, Spike would see that she was safe. He owed it to her - to both of them.


	8. Taking Stock

Rupert Giles was many things, but he'd never been accused of being an idiot. He knew he was drinking too much, knew too that he'd abandoned the children who looked to him, but he didn't know how to regain control and find his footing again. All he was really certain of was that his Slayer was dead. She'd given her life to save the world, but she'd left those who loved her alone.

Xander was soldiering on, taking a new sort of responsibility on his shoulder, and while he'd never been overly close to the boy, Giles was impressed. The insecure, petty, braggart of a boy was slowly settling into a more thoughtful, more tolerant young man, able to make allowances for the many shades of grey that existed in the world. Odd, how it wasn't until there was peace within the group that they only now seemed to realize exactly how tense and hostile things had been.

But Xander's changes were nothing compared to the transformation that had overtaken Willow. The shy young girl who'd always been his meek little companion in the library had truly blossomed, and now she was a witch with more power than he'd ever have thought to credit her with. He would've been more than just a little nervous had it not been for Tara's steady support and calm conviction. She believed in Willow the way he'd once believed in Ethan, and he could only hope that her trust wouldn't be betrayed the way his had been.

The one they all worried about was Dawn, but Giles had to admit that she was bearing up surprisingly well. When you considered that she'd lost first mother and then sister only months after discovering that she was actually a mystical being conjured from a ball of energy, well... he doubted anybody would've been shocked if she'd descended into complete madness. But she hadn't. Between her sister's friends and her unusual new caretaker, she actually seemed to have a decent chance at coming through this in one piece.

Dawn's caretaker, however, that was another entirely. Spike had undergone the biggest change of all. The wild, nihilistic creature who'd lived for the fight was gone, and his place was someone different - quieter, calmer, and infinitely sadder. The stirrings of some greater purpose that had first become apparent with the implantation of the chip in his head had become a wind that seemed to have swept the last traces of true evil from him, and while Giles hated to give credence to it, he had to admit that the sacrifices he'd seen and recent transformation could only come from love. If he didn't know better, the Watcher would've thought that the vampire had somehow grown a soul.

Yes, his Slayer was gone, but the ones she'd left were going on with their lives as best as they could. As he poured himself another glass of whiskey, Giles just wished that he could manage to do the same one day.


	9. Touching Base

Midnight was a distant memory by the time the vampire appeared, walking with stiff, slow steps like an old man. He carried no flowers, no small toys or gifts to lay on the grave that he knelt before. He’d never thought to bring anything, the agony that clawed at him too deep to be appeased by the offerings humans laid at the feet of their lost loved ones.

For a long time, he stared at the stone, as though the granite marker could somehow tell him why he was there, but eventually he cleared his throat and said softly, “Hello, luv.

“Might’ve been wonderin’ why I haven’t been by before.” She probably hadn’t - even if she could see who came to visit, she wasn’t likely to want his company in death any more than she had in life. “Won’t bother you long, I promise, but Dawn… she wanted me to say hello an’ catch you up some.”

He spent the next few minutes filling her in on many of the changes that had gone on that summer, from the Bot patrolling (_“Not you, never can be. Shoulda broke more’n my nose for that, pet”_) to Willow’s new leadership role (_“Be lost without her, but it’s goin’ to her head. Somethin’ brewin’ there an’ if it explodes, it’s gonna be right nasty for all of us”_) and Dawn’s cooking experiments (_“Pretty sure that last one qualified as a biohazard, but she ate it anyway”_). He didn’t tell her about the nightmares he knew Dawn still had, or the fact that her Watcher only crawled out of his bottle when Willow or Tara dragged him, or his own overwhelming grief and guilt - wherever she was, it had to be better than the place she’d left, and she didn’t deserve to be burdened with their problems.

Once his small supply of light chatter was exhausted, he reached out and laid a light hand on the stone, fingers tracing the inscription there. “Saved the world a lot,” he stated quietly. “Guess you did at that. Just sorry the world never gave you what you deserved. Shoulda had a better lot in store, Slayer. Shoulda -“

He broke off and shuddered, his throat too clogged with tears to continue. Finally he dashed a hand briskly across his eyes and said gruffly, “Gotta head out, make sure the Bit’s in bed on time. I’ll - I’ll be back next week, yeah?”

Stumbling to his feet, he turned and fled, his coat flying behind him as he did his best to outrun the painful memories his visit had roused. As the graveyard settled back into silence, Angel stepped out from behind a nearby crypt and glanced at the headstone. “I’ll make sure he’s okay,” he promised her. Spike might be a pain in the ass, but he was their pain in the ass, and that meant doing what he could to help. With a sigh, he started after his distraught childe to offer whatever comfort the blond would accept.


	10. Trump Card

Dawn was sitting on the front steps when Spike got back from the cemetery, and it didn’t take enhanced vision to tell that she was upset. “Thought you’d be in bed by now,” he said quietly, sinking down beside her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replied in a low voice, studying the crack in the step by her feet as though it held the answer to all of the world’s problems.

Spike glanced over at her, kicking himself for the dark circles under her eyes. If he’d been just a little bit faster, she wouldn’t have to worry about nightmares that kept her up this late. “Wanna tell me about it, then?”

“It’s just… everyone’s got a place but me. I mean, Willow’s a witch, and Xander fixes stuff, and you fight, just like-“ She choked up, unable to get her sister’s name out. “But I’m nobody!”

“Not nobody,” Spike corrected her sternly. “Don’t ever think you’re nobody, pet.” She raised her head to look at him, tears glittering in her eyes, and he softened his voice as he continued. “Most important person in the world to me, an’ you were to Her, too.”

Dawn sighed. “Yeah, I know, she died so I could live,” she stated glumly. “But what am I supposed to _do_, Spike? I don’t have a place!”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he informed her, reaching out to take one of her hands with a smile. “Way I see it, you’ve got a pretty big spot - you’re my trump card, ain’tcha?”

“Trump card?” she repeated, her pretty features screwing up in confusion.

“Means you’re why I win when I’m out there every night,” he explained. “Can’t let the oogly-booglies run wild when I’ve got you to think about, yeah?”

“But wouldn’t you still win, even without me?”

Spike thought about the doubt and despair and guilt that were his nearly constant companions. He’d been tempted more than once to let a losing fight play out to its natural conclusion, but every single time, he’d had only to remind himself of what it would do to Dawn to know he couldn’t let go just yet. But he didn’t tell her any of this; he just looked at her and said simply, “Doubt it, Bit.”

She must have seen something in his eyes, because she didn’t ask any more questions, just twined her fingers with his and leaned against his shoulder. They sat quietly for a while until Spike noticed her eyelids beginning to droop, and he was about to suggest she get to bed when a cold rush up his spine caught his attention.

Dawn felt him stiffen and looked up, but he was already scanning the darkness. “Get inside, Bit.”

“But -“

“Now.” She knew better than to argue with him when he gave her a command in that low voice, and hurried inside, leaving Spike standing on the porch. Squaring his shoulders, he waited for their watcher to step out into the yard before he said, “Hello, Angel.”


	11. Catharsis

"Spike," Angel replied, holding his hands up, fingers splayed to show he was unarmed. "I'm not here to hurt you," he assured him. "I just wanted to -"

"What, to check on me?" The words fairly dripped with acid bitterness. "Make sure I'm not tryin' to snack on the Bit or some such?"

His sire cast an uneasy look at the door that the teenager had just disappeared behind. "Maybe we could go somewhere else and have this conversation?" he suggested.

Spike folded his arms and glared at him. "Why? Need a private place to give me the 'get outta town before sunrise' speech again?"

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Angel shot back, his good intentions fraying right along with his temper in the face of his childe's determination to air old grievances. Although that particular one wasn't all that old...

"Damn right, I'm not - you tried to make me leave! Thought you could just flounce into town an' take over, all because you - because Sh e-" His voice caught and he whirled around to keep Angel from seeing the suspicious gleam of tears in his eyes. It wasn't fair - he'd had her and left her, but she'd loved him right to the end, all because of his fucking soul.

Angel's chest tightened at the pain he'd seen on Spike's face. "Because she loved me?" he asked quietly. Spike's only answer was a jerky nod. Angel slowly walked up to stand behind him. "She loved all of -"

"Don't," Spike choked out. "Don't give me that 'she loved all of us' crap. Because we both know there were some of us she couldn't bloody stand, don't we?"

The self-loathing he could hear in Spike's voice made him wince. "Look, I know this isn't easy, but -" But what? There were no words to make anything better, so he tried laying a hand on one tense shoulder instead.

"What the fuck do you know?" Spike demanded. He spun back around, fist slamming into Angel's jaw, sending him reeling back. Spike followed, driving him out into the yard. "You don't know anything about it! I'm a vampire, not a fucking nanny! I should be tryin' to get this chip outta my head so I can go back to killin' an' such, 'stead of tryin' to teach a soddin' teenager about the fucking Tuvalu islands, for Chrissake!" Hands closed on his arms, pulling him close instead of shoving him away, but Spike never stopped hammering on Angel's chest. "It wasn't supposed to end like that!" he screamed. "I was... It shoulda been me!"

Angel caught him as he sagged forward, the sudden weight driving them both to their knees on the damp grass. Over Spike's head, he saw the front door swing open to reveal pale faces and wide eyes, and he quickly shook his head. Willow hesitated, then nodded and led Dawn back inside, leaving Angel to hold his childe while he sobbed his guilt and grief out against his sire's neck.


	12. Aftermath

Tara wasn’t surprised to find Angel sitting at the kitchen table when she came downstairs for breakfast. He looked up from the battered copy of Bleak House in his hands and smiled at her, but she could see the strain lingering in his face. She fixed tea for both of them and went to join him. “How’s Spike?”

“He’s asleep. I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad for him since -”

“It’s been hard for everyone,” she said quietly. Although if Willow’s plan worked, it wouldn’t have to be hard much longer. “He’s being strong for Dawn, holding her up and doing Buffy’s job, and I think sometimes we forget that he’s hurting, too.”

For a moment he was silent, then he said, “When Willow told me, I didn’t believe her. I didn’t see how he could possibly love her.”

“None of us did. Except Dawn. She’s believed in him since the beginning. I think that’s part of why he works so hard to take care of her.” She took a sip of her tea. “That, and his promise.”

“What promise?”

It wasn’t hers to tell, but maybe he needed to know so he could understand why Spike fought so hard to help Dawn. “I overheard him telling Dawn that he’d promised Buffy he’d look after her. ‘Til the end of the world’ was actually what he said”

“That sounds like him. And if he promised, you can be sure he’ll follow through. One thing about Spike - he always keeps his word.” There was a story behind that. Probably many stories, but none he was willing to share.

“He’s been a big help around here.” That was an understatement. Spike watched after Dawn, went with them on patrols, working to keep Sunnydale safe, although they all knew just how much it pained him to see the thing he’d created masquerading as Buffy. She fixed a steady gaze on Angel as she spoke. “I don’t know what we’d do without him.”

He flinched, and she realized Willow had been right: He had asked Spike to go with him, but none of them were about to just let him take him. Spike was theirs. Sunnydale was his home and he belonged with them, not in LA with his former sire, no matter how well-intentioned the offer had been.

They locked eyes, then Angel glanced away. “I can see that. You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to help?”

She nodded. “Are you going to stay for a few days? I’m sure Spike and Dawn would like that.” 

“I can’t. I need to get back. My team needs me. You’ll tell Spike?”

“Of course.”

He got up from the table and Tara went upstairs to let Willow know that her tea had worked. Angel had promised to leave Spike with them, and the spell would see to it that he did just that. Now all they had to do was bring Buffy back and everything would be perfect.


End file.
